


Last Chance

by GhostGarrison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blue Hawke, Depression, Guilt, M/M, Pining, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 08:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: With the bomb stashed beneath the Chantry, this is Anders' last chance to be with Hawke.





	Last Chance

The walk to the Hawke estate feels torturous, the familiar trek from Darktown dragged out further thanks to his heavy, shuffling feet. Ever since the afternoon—the sella petrae, asking his friends to cover for him in the Chantry—a weight has settled over Anders’ shoulders, tight across his chest. It’s slowly been choking him, just as life has since he was twelve but now all at once.

There’s an invisible tether tied to him, pulling him back to Darktown, to the safety and solitude of his clinic. Anders knows it’s a terrible idea, but his unsteady feet push him forth toward the city square Hawke shares with other nobles. 

His heart fills with immense guilt, not for what he’s going to do tomorrow but rather the lies he’s told his friends—the lies he’s told _Hawke._

He doesn’t deserve that man, the mage who’s held his heart captive since the moment they met. Hawke has long since showed his interest in Anders, gently pursuing him for years only to politely back away when Anders declines. He can’t tell if it was himself or Justice who knew getting involved with Hawke would be too messy, too cruel, too distracting to their cause.

Anders can’t help but to feel horrible for pushing Hawke away all these years, only to show up on his doorstep on a night like this. It’s his last chance to be with Hawke—to _know_ him, to be _held_ by him. And though Hawke has every reason to turn him away, Anders hopes with all his heart that he doesn’t.

He snaps back to attention when his knuckles rasp against the sturdy door at the entrance to the Hawke estate. Though he hasn’t trusted himself to come here much before, his feet remembered the way. The pause after knocking is long and uncomfortable, causing panic to rush through his veins.

Maybe it’s not too late to turn around.

But the door opens to reveal Hawke’s broad build filling the frame, donning his leisure finery with a delicate glass of burgundy wine held between his fingers. A surprised expression flashes over his handsome features, quickly turning to one of concern and then to a facade of pleasant friendliness.

“Anders, please come in,” he says, holding the door open. Anders brushes past him, catching the intoxicating smell of Hawke’s cologne and the scent all his own. “How can I help you?”

Turning away, Anders sighs over the fact that Hawke is always able and willing to help his friends and family. His loyalty knows no bounds, ready to go above and beyond the means of normal friendship if it means making someone happy or safe.

Anders’ blood runs cold at the realization—he shouldn’t be taking advantage of Hawke’s kindness like this. Not when he knows nothing will be gained from it, not when he knows all it will do will hurt Hawke in the long run. It’s selfish of him, to hurt Hawke for this long only to come crawling back to him when it’s convenient, when he needs him most.

A large hand comes to rest on Anders’ shoulders, rousing him from his thoughts. He looks over to see Hawke standing in front of him, his soulful brown eyes brimming with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m… I just wanted company,” Anders says with a half-hearted sigh, though it isn’t a lie. “Can you spare some time?”

“Of course,” Hawke says, a gentle smile coming to his lips. Like a perfect gentleman, he motions toward the candlelit hall and gestures for Anders to follow. “Anything for a friend.”

The mention of friendship makes Anders falter, quickly composing himself as he follows Hawke through the estate. Other than the soft padding of their feet along the stone tile, it’s almost completely silent—a horrid and solemn reminder of just how empty this house is now that Hawke has lost his mother. Bodahn and Sandal must be elsewhere, perhaps sleeping even at this time of night.

Maybe Hawke is feeling a loneliness of his own.

They arrive in the study, a smaller room lined with bookshelves surrounding an enormous mahogany desk. The fire in the hearth crackles from having been recently stoked, lighting up the room in a soft glow. Hawke gestures to one of the two overstuffed chairs separated by a tiny end table, seating himself before taking another sip of wine.

“Would you like a glass?” Hawke asks after a moment’s pause, raising the half-full wine bottle between them.

Anders considers it for a moment—alcohol makes times like these easier, but the evening is already so uncertain that he’d prefer to be sober. He shakes his head, watching Hawke pour himself another.

They sit together for some time, Hawke comfortably enjoying the warmth of the fire and the quiet while Anders feels like he’s drowning in words unsaid. He wishes this was easier, wishes there wasn’t a chance he’d be sent away though he deserves it. If he could, he’d sit and enjoy this moment for the rest of his life.

After tomorrow, he expects this evening to be his last.

Hawke seems content with staring at the flickering flames in the fireplace, absently sipping his expensive wine. Every move he makes is hypnotizing, with Anders unable to keep himself from watching the man lick droplets of wine from his lips before they escape into his beard.

He shouldn’t be here.

But this is his last chance.

“Hawke,” comes a voice, and Anders is surprised to discover it was his own. The man’s attention turns back to him, his warm and earnest eyes flashing toward him in question. Anders stumbles over what to say, how to phrase this, how to get what he’s needs after denying it for so very long.

He comes up with nothing, but instead reaches over the gap between their armchairs and rests his hand on the inside of Hawke’s knee. The man’s eyebrow raises and Anders is prepared to snatch his hand back, to excuse himself and run back to Darktown with his tail between his legs—

But then a solid weight settles over his hand, thick fingers curling around it and holding firm.

 

+

 

“I never thought I’d have you like this,” Hawke says, sitting on his heels between Anders’ splayed legs, the mattress soft beneath them. He runs his thick fingers over the crests of Anders’ bare hipbones, tracing over them reverently. “You never seemed to return my affections, so I stopped trying.”

“I was never disinterested,” Anders admits, if not a little woefully. The truth hurts to say, reminding him of the heartache he felt whenever Hawke prodded him for more than just friendship. At the time, Anders believed his cause was too important for distractions—but now, after sharing his body and soul with Hawke, he wishes he could have a second chance at this.

“Then why?” Hawke asks, unable to keep frustration from seeping into his quiet tone. His hands settle on the sides of his hips, holding him gently. “Why turn me away?”

_‘Because all I’ll ever do is hurt you.’_

“I didn’t think I deserved you.” It isn’t a lie.

“No,” Hawke says, bringing Anders’ hand up to cup his own cheek. The man’s beard feels like bristles beneath his touch, but the warmth of his skin still radiates through. “It’s not about deserve, it’s about love.”

 _‘If it’s about love,’_ Anders muses, thinking about what he placed beneath the Chantry only hours before, _‘then I certainly don’t deserve yours.’_

 

+

 

“Anders…” Hawke says, turning away from the blazing fire quickly overtaking the Kirkwall Chantry. The flames light up the planes of his face—but rather than illuminating his fierce and strong features, it only reveals the look of pure hurt and betrayal. “What have you done?”

It’s an answer he’s thought long and hard about, but now the words are eluding him. “I did… what was necessary.”

He knows that years of rejection would outweigh the one night they had together, but he still hopes Hawke would come with him, fight alongside him in this final battle. Certainly Hawke understands the need for what he has done. Being an apostate himself, the man has always stood up for mages and never backed down at a chance in defending them.

But this… he isn’t too sure anymore.

Hawke kisses him, and for a brief moment Anders is elated.

“You should go,” Hawke whispers, so close Anders can still feel the ghosts of his lips brushing across his skin.

“What?”

Settling a hand on his chest, Hawke gently pushes them apart and looks him in the eye. “Anders, you need to go and never return.”

Though this is what Anders predicted, he could never have prepared himself to hear Hawke say these words. Part of him wishes Hawke would just kill him, end his life with a knife instead of throwing him away like this. “Hawke, I— I—“

“Please, I can’t…” Hawke says, his deep voice cracking and it goes straight to Anders’ heart. “Just go, before anyone comes looking for you. _Please._ ”

Anders’ mouth snaps closed, knowing no amount of explaining could ever heal this rift he's caused between them. The air trapped in his lungs chokes him as he desperately searches for the right words to say goodbye. “Just know that… I have always loved you.”

Hawke turns away.

“So have I, which is why I need to you to _go._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ storybookhawke


End file.
